By the time this missive goes live, Mom, Adric, and I will be in Denver, Colorado, on our annual trip. She is over the moon on the eve of going, and I look forward to adding to our growing travelogue of annual adventures while updating the Colorado portion of The Guide.
The Dodgers ran a dress rehearsal of the postseason over the past couple of weeks. When you barely sweep one of the worst teams in baseball, it should be no surprise to be found severely wanting in series against Milwaukee, Arizona,
and Chicago.
Nothing cures terrible play like spending three days in Denver, he said, tempting fate. But what ails the Dodgers is an ongoing question for another day.
The Wisdom of Lester Freamon
The thing no one warns you about when you finish your MLB chase is how you will feel afterward. Some folks spiral into depression, some accept the completion with grace and pride, and some fall somewhere in between.
As for me, I did enough emotional prep work to keep myself from the worst outcomes of grief or mania. There was a line from the classic The Wire I heard many years ago and resonated strongly: “The job will not save you.”
Mindless devotion to a task at the expense of one’s life, the thing you fill while you wait for moments that never come, never seemed like the best idea. With the Chase to 30, I knew and accepted early on, especially after that scare in Miami in July 2021, that this trek was more about the journey and the memories than the actual destination.
If I am being honest, the Bronx was a bit of a bust.
In retrospect, the storm that caused the doubleheader was a major reason, but on a subsequent visit, I would follow the advice I give in the entry for Citi Field: stay in Manhattan or Brooklyn. I live in Vallejo, CA, these days, which is the northern part of the Bay Area and has a lot of problems that people attribute to San Francisco (crime, prostitution, drugs, etc.), which is really soulless and suffering from past decisions to cater to Big Tech.
Every big city has places one should not go unless they are looking for trouble. That fact said, at multiple points while staying in The Bronx, I thought “Well, I could avoid squalor/crime/drugs at home, except here I have access to a better transit network, which is just Tokyo but infinitely worse.”
Plus, my Tour got rained out, but the staff was super kind and accommodating. I know I will have to return to Yankee Stadium to tick this Tour off my to-do list, but preferably I can pair it with another stop along the way.
The real draw to this field report was Philadelphia and Citizens Bank Park (CBP). Originally, I had planned to visit CBP in 2022, but I could not because of an injury. I am glad that I was finally able to go. Yes, folks chirped at me, and 99% of them were respectful. I’d usually say something right back, smile, and tip my cap, as I tend to do.
The Mayor of Baseballtown
On the night I reached 30, the game itself was a turkey. Trea Turner suddenly regained All-Star form with his bat, while dealing with the possible yips with his mitt, and lit the Dodgers’ pitching staff up like a Christmas tree in March. Emmet Sheehan was roughed up on his eventual way to Oklahoma City. Mookie Betts showed pyrite-like promise of regaining some measure of his old form.
It didn’t matter.
I met a fellow traveler, David, who was staying at the same hotel as me, and we shared a rideshare to the game. I learned a long time ago that if I obsess over how the team is doing, I have significantly less fun on the road, which defeats the purpose of traveling. It was fun chatting with everyone, mentioning at every possible opportunity that I was at my 30th and final new MLB ballpark (until Nashville, Las Vegas, and hopefully Vancouver go online).
Having the staff give me extra swag apart from the First Game Certificate was a nice touch. I was worried that no one cared that I finished the MLB stadium circuit. Everyone I spoke to in Philadelphia made those worries seem silly, and I felt like the de facto mayor of baseballtown as I talked about my past adventures.
During this series, it was fun goofing off with Stephen Nelson, who was in my literal blind spot for most of the proceedings. I did get to finally chat with Nelson properly without bellowing before Game 3 and chat at Rick Monday for a moment, before someone came to interrupt us wanting to talk about “the flag incident.”
I will admit I did have a bit of an existential crisis a few months back when I learned I am older than Nelson, but that crisis ended when I learned he had one more ballpark to go, and as far as final parks go, it’s a good one. Moreover, because the announcers travel with the team, the one part that he could potentially goof up is ungoofable, since announcers travel with the team and friends don’t let friends stay near The Mall of America.
For five seasons now, I have walked the line between serious baseball writer and goofball hardcore fan. In one breath, I am excoriating the team for the litany of stupid things that they do. In the next breath, I am talking about the history of foul balls, the Jumbo Jacks promotion, or what the best way to get to Tropicana Field is (there isn’t one unless you stay near the ballpark; otherwise, stay at home). In the last breath, I wonder whether I should cover Tim Neverett’s Japanese holiday or how best to present bus ridership numbers for Dodger Stadium Express.
The Cost of Experience is Wonder
For five years, I have walked the line between respectable columnist and hardcore fan. At times, being in the middle has allowed me to tackle sensitive topics with respect and compassion. At times, being in the middle has led to my being treated less seriously by fully serious baseball journalists.
The San Francisco Chapter of the Baseball Writers of America: What do you mean YOU want to join?!?
MJE: Yessum.
TSFCoftBBWAA: But you even don’t cover the Giants!
MJE: Only mockingly so. I prefer to cover a baseball team that tries.
Kidding aside, I did have the oddest sense of deja vu upon being politely rejected.
I suppose I could try the Los Angeles Chapter at some point, but that attempt is beside the point. I am asked what my endgame is. I don’t have an endgame. I have fun, go to baseball games, and chew bubblegum; unfortunately, I am usually out of bubblegum.
I am not putting on airs or trying to replace anyone. The world already has an Eric Stephen, and in my book, he’s irreplaceable. I travel, write long-form essays, and generally have fun doing something I am pretty good at. I want to see how far I can go.
I remember something I wrote last year that occurred to me after watching the players warm up in Arlington, while chatting with a couple of fans who were in awe: the cost of experience is wonder.
I took the VIP Tour at CBP, which was just code for “Do you want to spend three bills to watch batting practice on the field?” There is nothing wrong with that fact, but I wish the marketing were a bit clearer on the subject.
That said, I was watching folks get agog over Mookie Betts and Roki Sasaki, who both took the time to sign items for fans. Generally, these sorts of events in my travels have been so swamped; even if players were inclined to sign, there are too many people to make any meaningful dent.
I was filled with two emotions. First, melancholy. Everyone around me was generally happy and in awe, and it’s a bit of a bummer to not feel that. Word has gotten through the grapevine back to me that Betts knows, or at the very least is aware, of who I am. And I am not everyone’s cup of tea, which is fair.
Five years in the trenches, being honest for a living without fear of gaining or losing access, has a price. And here it is. I am not the story, nor should I ever be the story, except when writing field reports and missives, because I have a habit of showing up and interesting things happening. I can’t feel that awe that others do, because I know too much, or rather, I have learned too much regarding how the figurative sausage is made.
The second feeling was annoyance. The CBP staff present mistook Sasaki for Yoshinobu Yamamoto, prompting me to go, “Um, actually…” and correct them on the spot. I do note the irony of this behavior, considering that I once had an awkward social interaction with Stan Kasten at the Tokyo Dome last year, because my brain defaulted to identifying him as Mark Walter. Everybody goofs sometimes.
I passed along the photos above and others to our own Lindsay Adams before I had the chance to chat with Kirsten Watson, as everyone was escorted off the field because of a passing storm, which eventually opened with great aplomb.
Confessions from the road
Can I make an honest confession or two before wrapping up this milestone recap?
I think Panda Express is middling at best; I think The Habit is just In-N-Out, and Five Guys had an expensive, disappointing baby (an apt metaphor for the Dodgers’ bullpen and offense as of late); and I generally dislike Jack in the Box.
I would not recommend learning Japanese from Duolingo, but it works in a pinch. The app makers keep editing the course and adding words and concepts in a seemingly haphazard fashion, while assuming you already know what they just added. Think about learning to drive a car while it is being built and edited while you are in motion. Still, the ongoing conversations I have had with Japanese Dodgers fans are something I deeply enjoy.
As to what’s next? I think I’ll try getting really good at chess. There are still plenty of things to cover from my vantage point this season. Maybe my pessimism about the future of the sport is unwarranted; what a glorious thing that would be.
